Get all 221 Next Year's Snow releases available on Bandcamp.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Wassermann (Soundtrack & Audio from the Film), You are Peace! You are Love!, ᏠՀ๔ย๒ᏗᏝᘔงʊӄ, ← seulement XPORT Mach 11, Nineteenth day, third month, thirty-seven minutes, thirty-four seconds, Vippmann, Appleseed & Goliath, Attorneys At Law, Domination, Absence of Invocation, and 213 more.
1. |
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both eyes open
Half-decent joke of a dramatist
Invicible to sunlight shattering a point of view
Eclipsed all objectivity, poisoned by the assumption of grandiosity
Bit all the thorns off a rose, couldnt fake romanticism
Just wanted it to be unconditional so there was something to die for
Just for a moment anyway, God couldn’t allow that
Not like a higher force could ever make it worth it
Pitiful, picking up broken glass, smashed a mirror with bare fists
Facelooked too nauseating, couldn’t breathe own air exhaust
Couldn’t ever feel it but just focused, pretended it was there
Left some memories behind, the past set back in crashing tides
Buried own meaning in favor of just pursuit, picked up misfortune, laughed half-heartedly
Boredom no longer suffocates, welcomed ‘em long ago but they tried holding the door
Standing there milquetoast, eyes pointed at a wall, face already headfirst in rotten wood
Held the door, imagined footsteps, but there was no sound
Couldn’t look back at the source of silence, camped out in corner, no other life
Lurking there, lured in a vulture or two that’d at least make deafening calls as it demanded they
lick its wounds
Could focus on the noise, only thing of apparent significance
Chronology collapsed, years spent aging in the same spot, accumulated a library in the same dust
Sprawl of meandering knowledge, vast but not as complete as a fool would long for
Let in the fumes of rot, neutralized the flavor, turned out they were diging their own claws in
Left behind so many chunks of memory the past’s blood became exquisite wine
Dripped in enormous qualities, licked it, dried on the tongue once they tried to swallow it
No flavor, just a faint hint of forgotten adrenaline, barely anything beyond the surface
It too passed
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2. |
Finity of Reincarnation
07:52
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Does all of this end by the time you’ve reached a comfortable cadence?
Could speak loudly to excuse the absence
I’m sure joke’s on you but you never reached out for comfort
I’m sure I’ve been you but separating myself became harder
Not that I can laugh anymore but I can accentuate with some punctuation
You could’ve made some nice proclamations, clear-cut message, provoke rejuvenation
You’ve changed a lot in that time but I’m sure you’ve still got a thing or two for the
hopelessly abstract, speaking in paragraphs, your lungs only implied but still you
never felt hopelessly heartless, harvested some nice ideas, went to town playing around
with crafting destiny, broken away from grandiosity, left puzzled, a vehicle for this
neutrality and complete balance, childish vulnerability behind some flimsy blinds,
couldn’t even release the veil, maybe break a window to prove you’re still got a healthy
leaning towards fantasy, no longer engrossed but still deep in muddy water, fragility
resounding somewhere down there, some rather approximate love songs, some half-
hearted attempts at pretending you’re willing to entrap yourself, stricken by an absence
of honesty, let go of speaking in tongues and whisper a yes or no
It’s not you, it’s not me, it’s a disruption of flow
Lowest of the low, just render that beast as “fucked up”
Throw away your own mercy
Torn paper will speak for itself
You’re a finite resource
Barren of wisdom
Exhaust pipe
As a resort
for total
“before
you
ever
existed”
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3. |
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I’m sure Hell itself would let you
see some real idyllics,
your idols wretched, half-clsoed eyes
the flesh you embraced, the ideas of
which consumed you,
further down a spiral,
inventing the wheel again,
letting you withdraw,
As long as you can build the
tower of fragility,
let it rise once more,
you will attain perfection,
bereft of the outlines of regret,
your body is a symbol,
locked space within
no one can live in this new world
your fabric work’s been cut thin,
torn apart, the ghost of longing
simply gave weight to your charade
and let you rest on the flowerbed once more
it’s no longer yours to adore
Because you only could grasp the
shadow of a pure rose
and onlywhen you throw it away,
you’ll let your eyes dry with fear
tears no longer emerging. as they would
I’ll see you in a distant time,
bid farewell as you would,
impassioned in your disguise.
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4. |
Regret of Crimson
05:19
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Open wound
Body collapse
Atrophy is my name
It’s my symbol of existence
Carries me, forward
I alone know
I’m a puzzle piece
Pale beast
Illuminated by
this rejection
no advances
No moves into
the dark
I can’t negotiate
your rites
This life alone can judge me
I’m on speaking terms
with
your failure
and I would
rather
let it laugh at you
Savor the foul taste
Rot will be all you have
Soon enough
Loss for words
You’ve never had any
Inarticulate bastard
Eloquent in silence
Fashionista of sophistry
New idol for broken youth
The devil’s honest in
their offerings
But all of your gestures are fragile
As alluring as they may be
What’s innocence but an intent denial?
You may know the abstract idea
of fate, the terror that it brings
But poison always tastes sweeter
Peace as mindless complacency
Vengeance too is a pittiful claim
But what’s your game but a stained aftertaste?
Silence will eclipse you,
sugar melting into blood,
you’ve helped many dig their graves
But what’s the fault in an absence of fault?
Mouth shut,
exit path to nowhere,
shard of a kaleidoscope,
eyewitness to a single crack
juvenile nitpicking,
letting you set a perceived fault aside as fragile
apart from every single imperfection
and soon you’ll choke on the glassy taste
of your own crimson puddle of regret.
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5. |
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Modernist got their petty teeth kicked in at a scrapyard
Well of ideas dried up, drained of life
Flowers enveloping a concrete block, overgrowth makes its demands
Urban decay renders God into a scavenger, each on their own
Saintly recklessess allocates you some patience, talk to every dead soul, I hear 'em out
You too will be in the ground but it's just a verse you recite
Poetic chanting with no significance, get out, get out
Exit doorway in the back, screen door smashed in, shattered glass embraced by sunlight
Flare like quartz, no tainted texture, prophet of light
Dead souls meant peasants, body collector the greatest cynicist
Claim a body on your hero's journey of conquest and union
Many deaths under one living flag
Skull too thick for new breath
I'm airheaded ammunition, clear out the detritus of uncertainty
I've got it clocked in name only, never late, never misunderstand
What I most boast is what I most lack and what I most lack is what I most boast
I'm a parallel crossing the Earth, one of the many paths encircling
Axis shift, numerical ID, dead soul caimed by the plates
At the mercy of apocalypstic strife that never comes
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6. |
Filth of Perception
02:29
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I won’t give up, begin again
I only live towards the bitter end
Shallow beast exasperated, drained of soul
Let yourself be whole
I claw on through, wasted reflection
I break mirros as much as my face lets me
I won’t give up, begin again
I don’t want to sustain this pitiful form
I don’t have eyes, I only have lenses
Mirroring my view
Stained by filth of perception
I make a claim for isolation
Sanctuary is no place for me
I won’t give up, begin again
Your own smiling face twisted into a grin
Contorted into love eventually
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7. |
Reverence of August
26:50
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I’ve written every tragedy possible in hopes of reminiscing on terror for a moment
, maybe just to give terror some split second credit, impassioned scream s punctuated
by a date or two. August 4 years ago as of now isn’t a time beyond a meeting, July 22nd
a year ago is the first step to a curtain being peeled back. Still as velvet as theatre would
demand, it’s imperfect in its cynical innocence, romance barely seemed like a weight,
a necessary good soon becoming a “necessary evil” when you had to yell piercing the glass cage,
inhumanity not so distant as August a year ago came. August 15th, 2019: hopeless adrenaline,
hours upon hours of misunderstanding, a marathon of what for a moment semed like something
with the magnitute of hopeless thrill left scars imprinted on good faith, moved on from puppeteering,
trauma as a marionette for what little credit I had left in the moment. Some nice assumptionss with
sweet bad blood, pathetic moralistic exercise in ensuring you can get back at someone, agitator with
puppydog eyes, yelping in tears with no authenticity, least I want all that anger to be fragile nonsense.
Vulnerability is a bitch, best in the game at entrapment, plain insecurity manifesting as arbitrary strengthening,
cover up all impact beyond locked eyes, staring dead at each other in hunger, a month later distance broken.
Still avoidant of everything else, but god only knows you have a reason to be how you are now. Summer skyline
so familiar, for once lacking in glaring hatred, maybe that’s just the wounds carved into your skull speaking..
I’m eternally content with anything so insignificant deprived of its judgmental glance, I’m no impassioned mystic
clinging onto fate for just this moment. I claim no knowledge of this moment, I am free of the liberty of spilled blood,
because in the end you need an artist’s license for brutality, how lauded can one be without an absence of regret?
I guess you can tell everything you want to tell to the fluttering shards of a broken mirror calling out for help, smiling
face in kaleidoscopic motion, I’m balancing the dynamics of crystalline prose pouring out lonesome in subsiding heat,
a wanderer in this world calling out for heartbeat driving every single motor chain of cogs and gears, it’s been a long time
since you’ve reached a reverie of scattered steps across pavements, rain puddles splashed, don’t care about reunion with childhood,
that was always lacking anyway, I’m building a big machine to visualize my map of fantasy engrossed in light leaks, ocean of
pure transgression, serpentine beast in the ocean, high tower of lwo fantasy high-tech marinated in cinematic obsession, visualizing
some arbitrary figure as the “other artist”: put ona favorite song, start building some associations, have them permanently stick with you
in your idleness, when surreal vulnerability becomes pleasant it’s a rug of fragile fur and a cabin in the woods, campfire songs and
burnt marshmallows, bespectacled view into quiet domestic life, I talk a lot of shit because no one else wants to make others hear it.
Pale sun in your throat, everything’s separated from you, lost far away, view of the sea, sometime distant, someplace distant, same sky
hared at opposite ends, a ray of light in tangential words, throw around some obtuse joke you both will laugh at for 5 seconds,
an infinity symbol, linguistic roots fo rheroism and justice, subtract some space in the syllables, shape it up for memorability, cut the
discernibility, sounds the same inthe end even if accent affects it ,linguistic alienation, caught offguar by something foreign uttering a single word,
“Spasibo!” mispronounced later when recording, couldn’t be bothered to correct the pronunciation, maybe it’s just stylized, maybe it’s just ignorance,
the basic words of thanks as the slice of out of context screentime, I’m not here ad I’m not there, it’s not that I view staying home alone for hours
at a time, wasting budget on quick food, getting fed with more, stomaching the exotica of a town much bigger, enough for the presence of a commodity
across the cruel sea, tidal wave crashing in perpetual rhythm, domino effect offsetting the philosophy of graduality, it’s all just totality, minimalism
lacks some punch after a while, death lingers but no longer on the mind, haven’t made ends meet in regards to tied up loose ends, it just hangs in there,
dusted off, rejection of a name you weren’t given by your own will, eventually complete forgetting, of who you were once supposed to be but weren’t,
spiteful farewell, show up to a duel eating cherries out of a hat, but your opponent doesn’t suggest you wait until you’re happy to die, because you’re
already armed to the teeth like a fucking animal reciting the cascading embarrassment of what’d seem like comfortably numbing boredom, indulgence
in the fruits of lack of self-awareness, soon realizing that it’s all a deathly barrage just for a second, and you could just look up at the sky and damn God,,
your request a wish growing in volume, a wish growing in meaning, a wish eternal. You can’t speak for much longer but my prowess that restricted itself
as a teenager to the fear of eclecticism never letting tit come to fruition, maybe with your personal anecdotes of abstraction and boxing matches with formatting on a
shitty laptop barely able to render a spiral, barely able to play back the guttural screams of feedback without overclocking, you could start feeling things.
You wrote a dedication, seemed sarcastic, maybe you had to warn me, tell me that it’s alright, no grudges held, you could’ve left my name in but I’d soon change it,
a confession of intent and then a confession of acceptance of possibility, swirls of blue entanglement and passion and that fierce sense of community, looked better
when you opened it and zoomed in I’m sure, no breathing room at initial glance, soon it’d lay out a geography of mascropic worlds in a browser tab, unintentional
yet probably wanting to borrow from your explosiveness, soon I’d be working as the scullptor of effigies for your far off dark worlds, now we joke about peasants
and the occult, and the enveloping of a chapel by flames, deathly screaming, captured in echoes, disruption of pastoral fantasy, and soon quiet terror, I could burn
a pipe organ, watch it exhale flames, but the majesty of something so uch bigger than life itself intimidates me, so much so than venomous ideas of a pale blue dot
themselves.. Nothing is much larger than your own vicinity, nothing is much larger than subjective awe, momentary in its catch of breath. Has a serenade grown
obsolete?
I’ll be waiting for you there.
Hidden away in some distant overgrowth path.
An epic poem lacking the hero’s journey.
Some crass joke to render love casual,
and the next year’s snow as a motif ofimpernance.
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8. |
Enamor of Charade
07:56
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Grave coated in sawdust,
space locked beneath
contour of fragility
pouring down as rain
Completely obsolete,
I’m trudging on in
I’m not doing you favors
I’m just hoping to discern
what’s lost now
what’s irretrievable
what’s ineffable
what’s inevitable
what’s burnt in
a flame of hate
I’ve been digging up
everything
dirt on any man’s name
Loneliness renders you
futile, soon that’s your
whole endgame
i’m not you
i’m not that burnt chunk of
rot either
i won’t give up, begin again
i’ve said that to myself sometimes
i’m sure it’s been separated
i brought roses to my own rites
i coated my own grave before i dug it
i sawed off the head of a statue
a wooden idol erected of nobility
i’m but a sense of location
i’m a compass for everyone surrounding
this is the meticulous ending
of whatever was espoused
by many years ago
i’m final but i can’t have any good reason to be
i’m defiant
hel’s stranded me alone in my headspace
i can’t even trust the devil now
temptation was never a poison
but you can’t offer temptation and let it wear a crown
it can’t rule this earth because transgression wil fail the royal man
everything will uproot the history that birthed it
and everything will let it collapse
it’s a spectacle in name only
because there’s nothing to be achieved
i’m not you. i won’t give up on being you either
i’m sure i’ve given triumph a bad name
i’’ve loked into your eyes
i’ve seen nothing but crimson flame
i am no longer capable of divinity
i am no longer enamored with theatre
i am no longer enamored with charade
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Next Year's Snow
Svalbard Seed Vault field recordings label. Dabbling in large-scale interactive hydrophone installations and sixth wave post-
Pigfuck on the side.
Art collective est. March 1st 2017
Founded by:
Octa Möbius Sheffner
Valyri Sheffner Harris
Spencer Booth
Previous:
&TIME
earlyprey
(etc.)
Current:
7FORM
Hatemail and/or demos:
snow@ecarlate.company
... more
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